


Lost Afternoons on Smith Street

by HartwinMakethMan



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:50:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartwinMakethMan/pseuds/HartwinMakethMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy and Harry are settling in for the night after another day of saving the world, when Eggsy's drunk stepfather shows up on their stoop, bellowing about some parts of Eggsy's past he didn't want heard....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Afternoons on Smith Street

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you like this! This is the first Kingsman fic I ever wrote! YAY! Let me know what you think, just please don't be mean, I'm delicate... 
> 
> This does mention some slurs, and in (potential) later chapters, might get progressively darker. I'm a sucker for some hurt/comfort... but, we'll see where this road takes us. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry wasn't surprised. He'd known Eggsy didn't have a spotless life, had had his fair share of trouble. After his father died and Dean entered the picture, it wasn't hard to look at the school absences, hospital visits, and drug history and not connect the dots. It didn't take a spy to see that he'd been raised in a broken home, takening beatings to protect his mother and sister, doing anything he could to provide for the people he loved. So, no, Harry wasn't surprised to hear it.

The circumstances under which he learned about it, however, were startling at best. 

Harry was simply relaxing at home. The night was cool and the air was sweet, and he left the window in his bedroom open as he sipped at his scotch and flipped through some old files. Since his brush with death, Harry had found more pleasure in the peace of his home: the noises of the town going to sleep, and the weight of the scotch glass in his hand, and the soft breathing of the beautiful young man currently sprawled across his sheets in deep sleep. He and Eggsy hadn't done anything ungentlemanly that evening, but the younger man had gotten out of the shower after their latest mission and landed in Harry's bed like a felled log. The moon was just rising, setting a luminous moat of blue light across the planes of his back as he slept, and Harry took a moment to try to remember the last time he was this happy. 

The shatter of glass against stone, just beside the bedroom window, broke the peace with a sound loud enough to be a bomb in the surrounding silence. Jumping into action, Harry grabbed his gun off the bedside table and stood like a shadow beside the open window. Eggsy had woken up with a grunt, but picked up his own weapon almost as quickly as Harry, meeting his eyes across the room with the expression of "What the Fuck is happening?" all over his face. 

"EGGSY, YOU FUCKIN' PRICK. COME OUT 'ERE AN' LEARN T' BE A FUCKIN' MAN..." The heavily accented, drunk bellowing in the garden brought Harry back to a slight sense of calm. No one was dying, no mastermind had tracked them down, nothing was happening that two international spies couldn't handle. Holding his gun safely at his side, Harry nodded an assurance at Eggsy-- who looked confused and slack jawed at the familiar voice of his stepfather-- telling him with his eyes to stay put while Harry leaned into the open window frame and looked into his moonlit garden. "THERE Y'ARE, YOU- YOU WHORE, YA' HAD A FUCK WIT' ERRY MAN IN LONDON WHO COULD PAY, EH? YOU FUCKIN' POUF, YOU COME DOWN 'ERE AN' FIGHT YOUR OL' MAN, YEAH? SEE IF I CAN'T GIT M' WIFE AN' BABY BACK, YOU FUCKIN' TART---"

"You seem to have the wrong house, Sir." Harry called dryly, feeling Eggsy's gaze burning into his back, trying to reign in his own swelling feeling of disgust at the truely piss-drunk man on his lawn. "I'd suggest you leave--"

"OH 'OW MUCH DID YOU PAY OUR EGGSY FOR A FUCK TONIGH', MATE? YOU AN' ERRY OTHER BLOKE IN TOWN--"

"Harry, don' listen to him." There was an unspoken please in Eggsy's whisper as he snuck around to Harry's corner of the window. 

"Sir, I can't begin to tell you how much you're disturbing the neighborhood. I will come down and take care of it if you don't le--" The hoarse laughter that cut him off did nothing for Harry's nerves, and he took a deep breath against the red rage filling him up. He chose to focus purely on the scumbag downstairs instead of what he was saying, drunkenly spewing out slurs and stumbling all over the violets lining Harry's front walkway. 

"YOU? Y' WANNA COME DOW' ERE, MATE, DO IT. BUT 'RING THAT FUCKIN' SLUT DOWN WIT' YA. LET'SEE WHAT DAMAGE YOU DONE ON 'IM..." He slid back into harsh crows of laughter, dissolving into hacking coughs. Knowing that Eggsy would be right behind him, Harry turned on his heel and prepared to go downstairs. 

But he wasn't right behind him. 

Back by the dresser against the far wall, Eggsy was standing like his whole body was made out of steel rods. Fists coiled tight, chest heaving and eyes wild, he was nude except for a pair of Harry's soft pajama pants, but he looked like the opposite of calm, the opposite of himself. The older agent paused in putting his shoulder holster back on, sliding his pistol into place under the smoking jacket he had worn that day. 

"Eggsy...?" he edged toward the young man, feeling the waves of distress radiating off his lover. Harry studied him closely, trying to give him some reassurance without reaching out and touching him. Eggsy didn't seem like he'd be quite receptive to that, if the trembling fists and set jaw were any indication. "I'm going to take care of this. I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry?" Eggsy let out a humorless huff of laughter before giving Harry a glimpse of a sincere, deeply self deprecating smile. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm gonna handle the bastard an' he won' ever come back, 'Kay?" He started walking away, not even bothering to grab a weapon-- which, in all fairness, he probably didn't need, as a trained spy taking down a drunk man twice his age-- but, Harry reached out, taking Eggsy by the arm and pulling him back to him. 

"I know you're angry. Eggsy, you need to take a deep breath, and calm down. He's expecting you down there-- I don't want him to start ranting and raving about anything else tonight. He'll charge at you and start a fight, and the right and proper thing to do is talk him off the property. You know that." He paused, cupping Eggsy's jaw to hold his steely gaze. 

"This ain't your fight..." He finally replied, softly and full of so much shame it hurt Harry's heart. The older man leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eggsy's forehead. 

"That man came to my house. He's talking about you as if you are nothing. And accusing me of using you. This is most certainly 'my fight' too, Eggsy." He squeezed the young man's shoulder. "Please stay here." 

Going down the stairs and looking out his front door for a moment, Harry assessed the situation. Dean was pacing and stumbling around by the edge of the garden, grumbling to himself and bemoaning his lack of whiskey since he so graciously threw it at Harry's window. Harry huffed a breath in exasperation that this was even happening. How Eggsy had managed to grow up into as wonderful a person as he had was a miracle in a house with this man. Gun holstered, ring and watch at the ready, a part of him really wanted to shock the Hell out of this bastard. 

Opening the door, he strolled down the front walk like he was not about to go shoo away a belligerent drunk. Dean caught sight of him and laughed mockingly. Harry tamped down any thoughts of the hundreds of violent ways he could and would like to kill him, and focused on the situation. 

"Get off my property please. Scotland Yard have been called--"only half a lie "--if you are not gone in, say, 2 minutes, I'm sure they'll have arrived to make you leave." 

"Oh really, Mate?" he rolled his eyes-- a gesture far less effective when it makes you lose your balance "Where's ou' mutual friend, not 'n a state fo' walkin'? 'Slut should b' used t'it..." he chuckled darkly. And Harry gave up.

He moved fluid and fast, securing a painful grip around Dean's closest wrist and tugging with slightly more than necessary force, sending him colliding with the cobblestones of the walkway with a grunt and sickening crack. It was truly too easy, sending him into the ground like an insect under a foot, and Harry straightened his jacket and took a step back as Dean groped and stumbled his way up to standing, clutching at his broken nose and bloody mouth. And a set of headlights appeared down the road. Harry sighed in relief.  
Right on time. 

Shooting an amnesia dart to Dean's neck in an effort to see he never came back, Harry helped the cabbie shove the man into the taxi and sent them on their way. He was turning to go back inside and continue his night as peacefully as possible, with making sure Eggsy was alright at the top of his list-- " 'You do 'the right an' proper' thing, Harry?" 

And Eggsy was padding his barefoot way up to him in the moonlit garden. He was in nothing but Harry's pants, still, and the older man hurried to tug off his jacket, meeting Eggsy halfway and wrapping it around his shoulders. Ushering him inside, Harry kept a hand on the small of his back and led him to the bedroom. He sat Eggsy on the edge of the bed, and Eggsy let himself be maneuvered. After a few long moments of silence, Harry knelt in front of the young man and took his hands in his. 

"Are you alright?"

Eggsy looked down at their joined hands with a soft, sad smile. "I'm okay... You?" 

He was a bit taken aback by the question, but, it was very Eggsy to ask "I'm just fine, now that that man is gone, and the only guest in my house is a lovely, invited one." he leaned forward and pressed his lips over Eggsy's knuckles. He could feel the boy shake with a quiet chuckle. But then it was quiet again, and the air seemed a bit more tense. Eggsy wanted to say something, and Harry didn't have to look up to know it. 

"What is it, Eggsy?" he glanced up at him then, furrowing his brow at the nervous look on his pretty face. 

"Do you... Do you still want me?" he blurted out, an impassive look in his eyes and Harry felt like someone had dunked his head in cold water. 

"What?" all gentlemanly pretense was gone for a moment, and he was so confused at that sentence. Not want Eggsy? Whoever in their right mind wouldn't want Eggsy?

"Everythin' he said, it was true. I- I used to turn tricks, I... I was a whore, Harry." he was whispering, and there were tears welling up in his eyes, and Harry was putting all this together rather embarrassingly slowly for a well seasoned spy. "And I ain't ashamed, I ain't sorry. I took care of my mother, and Daisy, and it was all I could do-- I was 16! Guys, men with serious cash, was offerin' left an' right--"

"Eggsy. Eggsy, stop." Eggsy was crying now, and he couldn't stand it. Harry took his hands and framed Eggsy's face, wiping away tears with his thumbs and staring him in the face with his most serious gaze. "If there is anything you need to understand, it's that I will never think less of you for being yourself. You provided for the people you loved, and you did what you had to in order to survive. You're right to be unashamed. I love you, and your vile, drunken excuse for a stepfather, nor any part of your past, could change any of that. No matter what he has to say." 

Anything else he could have said was lost against Eggsy's lips as he threw his arms around Harry and slid off the bed into his lap, kissing him firmly. 

"I love you, too." he murmured, Harry's arms cradling him close. 

When they fell asleep that night, Eggsy's head pillowed on Harry's chest and Harry's arms thrown around him, it felt like there was nothing else in the world. And if, the next morning, the nice old lady next door asked why there was blood on the front walk of Harry's house, no one seemed to know or really care much about the answer.


End file.
